


Memory's a Funny Thing

by Drag0nst0rm



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Pendragon Returns, F/M, Gen, This Does Not Go as Expected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 06:03:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7879360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That Arthur would return was always a given. Whether or not he would remember his past when he did was always another question entirely.</p>
<p>Arthur remembers just fine. Merlin, however . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memory's a Funny Thing

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Merlin.

History was littered with stories about how Emrys had served this king or deposed that one, ended this war and toppled that kingdom. He had a tendency to find the great heroes and villains of an age and find a way to interfere one way or the other.

Only people didn't say interfere, because that had bad connotations and most of the time Emrys's interventions were for the better, and even when he made mistakes, people didn't like to bring it up.

Surprising how destroying a few castles with a couple of muttered words made people hesitant to irritate you.

Arthur used to love reading the stories when he was a boy. When his nurse asked him which one was his favorite, though, he told her he hadn't found it yet. He was still looking.

The nurse had asked him what he was looking for.

"The one with me in it."

The nurse had laughed. Of course a five year old would want a story where he was a great hero fighting alongside Emrys.

Arthur wasn't joking, and when she tried to make one up, he told her flatly that she was doing it wrong.

It was cute, in a five year old. In a twenty year old man it would be viewed differently, which was why Arthur kept his mouth shut.

He _knew_. He _remembered._

He was starting to wonder if he was the only one who did.

In not a single book was he ever mentioned.

Camelot was, but it was a Camelot after his time, a Camelot where the grandchildren of everyone he had known would have been dead. It appeared only scarcely, more mentioned than anything else, and the details were blurry and contradictory.

Like when people had asked him about it, Merlin's memories had been fuzzy, and he hadn't cared enough to try and get them back.

He was always Merlin in Arthur's head. Calling him Emrys made him feel the same way he had when Merlin had sarcastically called him "sire". It seemed more hurtful, almost dehumanizing, than respectful. If he was Emrys, he was untouchable, nearly all powerful. If he was Merlin, he was funny and brave and loyal and a bit of an idiot.

And, apparently, forgetful.

Arthur couldn't blame him, he supposed. He had been only one in a long line of warriors and kings Merlin had fought alongside. He hadn't been anything special, except for the fact that he thought he might have been the first. Time would have dulled the memories. It was understandable.

Or maybe Merlin remembered all too well and didn't want to talk about it. Maybe he was embarrassed. The stocks weren't quite as glorious as most of the tales after all.

_And whose fault was that?_ a small voice hissed.

. . . Probably not Merlin's.

He decided Merlin didn't remember, because that hurt less. Loss of memory was natural and unavoidable. Suppression was deliberate and unlike him besides.

It was just hard to admit to himself that someone who was still so important to him no longer even thought of him enough to care at all.

He didn't go looking for Merlin. Well, he tracked his movements constantly, but those were pretty much public record. He didn't try to meet him though. It wasn't the near impossibility of the task that stopped him - he caught himself longing for the challenge, actually - but it had nearly killed him in his first life to look at his father and realize the man had no idea who he was. If Merlin did . . .

That was the plan. Avoid Merlin. Try and find the others. Avoid throwing things as much as possible.

Then some idiot - not Merlin - unearthed Cornelius Sigan again, and Arthur was throwing a lot of things, mainly at reanimated gargoyles, until he managed to get his hands on a proper weapon. At the end of the day, the city managed to hold off the sorcerer until Merlin got there and finished him off, and Arthur had distinguished himself as the man who had organized the resistance and saved a lot of lives. It was decided he should be rewarded with a medal.

Presented by Emrys.

He thought he remembered Merlin once saying something about destiny, and he decided he believed in it if for no other reason than that someone, somewhere, apparently had it out for him.

On the bright side, Gwen was one of the people he'd saved during the attack, and she kissed him before he walked onto the stage which he took to mean she remembered. It wasn't the sort of kiss she'd give a stranger, even one who had saved her life.

He didn't care about the cameras or the crowd. He was used to attention from his old life, even if this one had been quieter.

Relatively quieter, that is. Emphasis on the "relatively".

Merlin tensed when he walked onto the stage. Had he picked up on Arthur's own defensive stance?

He was so close. His - all right, fine, he'd admit it - his friend was so close, but not quite close enough. Less than a foot away, but left somewhere millennia in the past.

The medal settled cold against his neck while the mayor began speechifying.

"You look very familiar," Merlin whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

"We've met before." The word felt bitter even to his own ears.

"I'd have remembered that."

"I'd have thought so too."

He looked straight ahead for the rest of the ceremony and headed down the stairs immediately after.

Merlin followed. Of course he did.

"When was it?" he demanded, drawing a curious look from Gwen. "Had I been knocked on the head or something?"

"You acted like it most of the time."

"Arthur!" Gwen smacked his arm.

Merlin turned to look at her for the first time. He blinked. "Gwen."

Arthur threw his hands up in the air. "Her, you remember."

"Of course I do, she was the first girl I ever - Wait. There's no way I missed two of you. You _remember?_ You remember Camelot?"

"Unlike certain idiot warlocks, yes."

A strangely nostalgic look came over his face. "Do you have any idea how long its been since someone called me an idiot?"

"Merlin?" Gwen prompted gently.

He jumped. "Right, sorry. I get . . . distracted. Easily. Even more than I used to." He frowned. "You thought I didn't remember?"

"You said I looked 'familiar'."

"I thought that would go over better than, 'By the way, you used to be king of this place called Camelot and I was your manservant. We fought monsters. It was fun.'"

"You never brought us up! They've written books about the year you spent as an innkeeper for crying out loud, and you never thought to mention the undead armies?"

"They mess them up! They always mess the stories up. They never get them right, not once! I didn't want . . . You tell a story, and it doesn't belong to you anymore. People twist it and laugh at the wrong parts, and they don't understand. They think of it as just as a story, and they - They make fun, sometimes, or they try to prove a point with it, and I could handle it with the others but not with you. It hurt too much."

"Oh."

Merlin rubbed the back of his neck. "So everyone remembers. Sorry."

Gwen was giving both of them a look. Arthur knew that look. He backed away a bit.

Merlin, awesomely powerful mage that he was, edged behind Arthur.

A thought struck Arthur suddenly. "What were you saying earlier?"

Merlin froze. "When?"

"About Gwen."

"Oh. Er, nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"Your first something." He glanced at Gwen. She looked torn between anxiousness and amusement and was worrying her bottom lip.

"Gwen?" Merlin squeaked.

Arthur looked between the two of them. A sudden memory of purple flowers and a hasty excuse bloomed in his mind.

"You kissed her, didn't you."

"Absolutely not."

"Gwen - "

"We are not doing this. We are not spending our reunion standing here arguing. We are going to talk, and we are going to call the others. But first, the two of you are going to stop acting like idiots and hug."

"Gwen - "

"Now."

One king, one Emrys, and one glaring Guinevere.

The boys never stood a chance.


End file.
